Jaemin sat in his office, his hands pressed against his temples as he leaned back in his chair. The weight of his responsibilities was always there, but tonight it felt particularly suffocating. He had been consulting psychiatrists for the past few weeks, hoping to find some solution to the tangled mess that his relationship with Sooah had become. Each session had left him more frustrated than the last. They all told him the same thing: this issue could only be solved by the two involved. There was no magic cure, no quick fix.
As much as he had tried to explain the situation, to find a way to untangle the knot that had become their dynamic, the therapists had only confirmed what he already knew: Sooah wasn't getting any better. If anything, she was getting worse. Every session seemed to push her deeper into her dependency on him, deeper into this nonsensical, unhealthy love she had developed.
He had hoped that she might come to her senses, that one day, the desperate need for his affection would subside. But it hadn't. It only grew stronger. Every time he thought he had set a boundary, every time he refused her demands for intimacy or closeness, she found a way to push him further. It was like a puppy, eagerly wagging its tail, desperate for affection from its master, no matter how cold or distant he tried to be.
Jaemin had already been compressing his own desires, pushing aside the part of him that still longed for connection, for intimacy, for love. He knew that if he gave in, even a little, he would only reinforce the cycle. But that didn't stop him from feeling the weight of it every day.
The truth was, he couldn't escape. No matter how hard he tried, there was no running from this. It was like being trapped in a cage of his own making. Sooah had become his obsession, his burden, and he couldn't walk away from it.
As the days passed, Jaemin poured himself into his work as CEO of Mirae Group. It was the only thing that kept his mind occupied, the only thing that gave him a sense of purpose outside of his complicated marriage. He threw himself into managing the company's operations, overseeing meetings, making decisions with a level of precision that only someone with his skills could. It kept him sharp. It kept him focused.
But at the end of the day, when he returned home, it was always the same. Sooah was there, waiting. Her eyes would light up when she saw him, her eagerness so painfully obvious. She would try to engage him in conversation, to find any excuse to get closer to him. It was suffocating, but he couldn't ignore her. Not completely.
One night, after a long day at the office, Jaemin returned home, tired but determined to maintain his resolve. He had consulted yet another psychiatrist earlier that afternoon, only to hear the same useless advice. He needed to teach Sooah restraint. He needed to be firm, to set boundaries. But how much longer could he keep up this charade?
Sooah was waiting for him in the living room when he walked through the door. She stood up as soon as she saw him, her face lighting up with that hopeful, eager expression that he had grown so used to. She was practically vibrating with anticipation, like a dog who had been waiting for her owner's return.
"Jaemin," she said softly, almost reverently, "You're home."
He didn't respond right away. He couldn't. He was too tired, too exhausted from the mental and emotional strain of the day. Instead, he took off his jacket and dropped it onto the chair by the door, running a hand through his hair as he tried to push down the rising frustration.
"Sooah," he began, his voice a little more controlled than he felt, "You need to learn restraint. You can't keep doing this."
She stepped closer to him, her gaze soft and pleading. "I just want to be close to you. Please, just a little. Can't you see how much I need you?"
Jaemin's jaw tightened, and he fought to keep his voice calm. "You need to stop depending on me for everything. You can't expect me to fulfill all your needs. This... this obsession isn't healthy, Sooah."
She blinked, her expression faltering. For a moment, Jaemin thought he had gotten through to her. But then she took another step toward him, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I can't help it, Jaemin. I love you. I want you. Please."
It was as though every word she spoke was a needle, slowly poking at his resolve, making him feel the weight of everything he had been trying to repress. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, forcing himself to remain composed.
"You don't love me, Sooah," he said, his voice colder than before. "You're just... dependent. You think this is love, but it's not. It's unhealthy. And I'm not going to feed into it."
Sooah's eyes welled up with tears, and Jaemin immediately felt the familiar tug in his chest. It was the same feeling he had every time she cried. He hated it. He hated how she could still do this to him, how her vulnerability could break through his carefully constructed walls.
But he couldn't let himself give in. Not again.
He moved past her, heading toward the stairs. "I'm going to bed," he said curtly, not looking back at her. "You should stay down here. We'll talk more in the morning."
As he retreated into their bedroom, Jaemin felt the cold emptiness that followed. He couldn't fix this. He couldn't make her better. All he could do was keep pushing her away, but he could see it in her eyes—she wasn't getting better. She was getting worse.
Sooah's need for him had turned into something suffocating, something he couldn't escape. And no matter how hard he tried to teach her restraint, no matter how many times he set boundaries, it seemed to have the opposite effect. She only clung to him more desperately, like a puppy that couldn't understand why its master was trying to pull away.
Jaemin's stomach churned with a deep sense of hopelessness. He had tried everything. But in the end, it seemed there was no escape from this tangled mess.